


Let's Get Liberated

by predictaslash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Peggy Olsen is also my spirit animal, Stiles is tired of Peter's shit, mad men references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2374985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predictaslash/pseuds/predictaslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah, let’s do it.  Isn’t that what you were just talking about?”  His belt drops to the floor with a clang.  He puts his hands on his hips and gives Peter an expectant look.  “Well?  Why aren’t you getting naked?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Get Liberated

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short thing while I can't figure out ends to longer works. Enjoy.

Maybe he can’t handle the comments anymore. Maybe he’s tired of the jokes at his expense. Maybe, just maybe, he watches Mad Men and Peggy Olson is his spirit animal. Whatever it is, he just goes along with it and refuses to back down.

“What are you doing?” Peter is startled into asking, finally the one left standing there confused and shocked. 

Stiles doesn’t answer as he peels off his shirt. He doesn’t answer when he kicks off his shoes. He does start to talk when his hands are working on his belt. “Yeah, let’s do it. Isn’t that what you were just talking about?” His belt drops to the floor with a clang. He puts his hands on his hips and gives Peter an expectant look. “Well? Why aren’t you getting naked?”

Okay, now, as Peter is taking in his shirtlessness, he’s starting to feel a bit embarrassed. His face is turning red, he knows it. So he covers it up with more talking. “What was it you said while we were researching last week and I needed a ride home? Wasn’t it something along the lines of you giving me the ride of my life?”

Peter’s looking more aroused than confused now--it’s working.

“And the other day, while you were watching me eat ice cream, you said that heterosexuality wasn’t a good fit for me when my lips were obviously made to be around--” _You can do it, you can say it_ , he thinks, psyching himself up. “--your cock.” He stumbles a little over the word, but he doesn’t think Peter notices because he’s too busy flashing his wolf eyes and letting out a soft growl.

Stiles can totally almost always read wolf body language now and is pretty sure Peter doesn’t want to murder him. So he approaches Peter and puts his hands on either shoulder, then slowly runs them down his arms before moving to Peter’s belt. He doesn’t even know why Peter wears a belt since his pants are practically painted on--maybe the belt is designer and ties the outfit together. Or, it did tie the outfit together until it joined Stiles’s belt on the floor.

He unbuttons his fly and starts on the zipper, which is when Peter decides to participate. He grabs Stiles’s wrists and backs him a few feet into the nearest wall, pinning his arms down against it. Stiles looks up at Peter defiantly after he hesitates to move forward and makes eye contact, challenging him. “I thought you were going to have me begging for it.”

And that’s when Peter lets one hand go and puts his hand in Stiles’s hair to tilt his head to the side, exposing his neck. “I meant every word,” he promises before trailing wet kisses up his neck, scraping elongated canines against his skin.

Stiles moans. As much as he likes his foray into being cool, confident, sensual Stiles, his imagination has been building up this moment in his head for a long time. Peter telling him what to do and holding him down and having his way with him and calling him slut, calling him _his_. Just thinking about it makes him moan again and he reaches out to guide Peter’s face to line up with his own and their lips touch and Stiles has been kissed before, but awkward teenage fumblings just don’t even count if this is what kissing is supposed to be like.

His free hand wants something to do, so it latches onto one of Peter’s perfect asscheeks. He’s running on instinct at this point because he’s never gotten this far with anyone (well, he touched a boob once, over the bra, but it was at camp when he was thirteen, and there was no intent beyond that) and he thinks they’re going to go as far as they can go tonight. Anyway, Peter appreciates the ass grabbing if the gasp and stutter of his hips into Stiles’s is anything to go by. The weird thing is when Peter doesn’t try to move things forward, seems content to just have a crazy hot and heavy make-out session. Stiles would assume that he’s all bark and no bite, but he’s watched Peter murder enough people to know that the bite is very real. And so is the erection brushing against his own through his jeans.

So, Stiles grabs his shirt and tugs at it, pulls away to whisper against Peter’s lips. “Hey, come on, you take your shirt off like, every day, for no reason.” This is the only time he wishes he had said yes to being turned--he could just tear and claw his way through Peter’s clothes. Peter lifts his arms and Stiles makes sure he’s gentle (even he knows cashmere when he feels it and Peter has thrown a shitfit over less expensive shirts with stretched out collars). 

“A few days ago, you made fettucine alfredo and I got it all over my mouth and you talked about your cream all over my face.” Stiles drops to his knees and finishes his earlier work on Peter’s zipper. “We can start with that, then you can deliver on all of those rimjob jokes and then you can fuck me into next week, as promised when I was talking about the possibility of time travel.”


End file.
